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Sunday, April 07, 2013

The Woman On Platform Number 10

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 38; the thirty-eighth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "The Woman on Platform Number 10"

The
Woman on Platform Number 10…

The
train was slowing down. Dusk was about to fall, streaks of golden hues of the
setting sun were still clinging onto the platform's edge. It was a
junction station, now almost deserted, preternaturally still in the yellowing
light.

Slowly, the
train came to a halt. I craned my neck, tried to read the station’s name but
the letters were barely visible. A young lady was standing on the platform hugging a rucksack--a strangely self-possessed figure with close-cropped hair in a fever of impatience.But, she had a strange feminine quality of innocence in her, a likable naiveté, so to say. It was clear that she was making preparations to board the train.

A few
minutes before the train started, two noisy men entered the compartment in kurta-pajama and leather chappals. One of them looked like a politician,had an elephantine gait, and a general air of having to worry about nothing...kind of attitude. An overnight
journey in such a company wasn’t agreeable to me, but I had no choice. Quietly,
I took out my Perry Mason, switched on the reading light, shut myself from them.

My peace was soon disrupted by the young woman who was standing on the platform. It was, as if, to rescue me from awkwardness, God had sent her to me. I was pleased. She entered, rapidly shoved her bag under the seat, and claimed her seat next to me. I was relieved. I kept waiting
for her to take out an i-pod/ i-pad/ kindle…but, she kept staring at the compartment for some
time, then bunched up her sari and pulled her legs up on the bench.

The whistle sounded, and the train started.

I smiled;
she gave me a quick friendly glance. I noticed, her eyes had unnatural, abnormal restlessness...she was rocking back and forth against the wall, but was trying hard to calm herself, taking one breath after another; her hands were trembling .... She looked at me worriedly, tried to force a smile--but, her anxiety only deepened.

‘Are
you alright?’, I asked softly.

She gazed at me , and in childish exuberance asserted, ‘I’m fine, thank you for asking…', and gulped water from her water bottle. I thought the stuffy compartment was getting on her.., but, strange symptoms persisted, and all of a sudden those shivers theatrically changed into suppressed sobs...I didn't know what to say. Those men were now ogling at her. Everything looked so

oppressive, so queer...--oh, it was bad, bad!

I sensed something was wrong. I seldom made small talks with strangers, but, this time, I was all set to probe into her life…so, willingly began a
conversation..!

‘Are
you travelling alone?’ I asked.

Her red eyes flickered once and she said,’ Yes,…I am traveling alone, going to see my
mother, who lives with my parental grandmother, she’s like a daughter to them… she’s
fighting cancer…my father left us for another
woman. That tall monster is a qualifieddoctor, who could have
treated his wife- but the man is so tinged with treachery, and my mother is a
silly woman!’ She said everything, her voice high, determined, But, soon she laid her head on my lap very quiely , and I closed
down my book, and started stroking her bony head....

Her sobing stopped; she sat up jerkily, may be, in embarassment --I wanted to tell her--nothing had been misunderstood, no wrong had been done. But, she started blabbering again.This time she looked rebellious rather than nervous.

Relenting, she whispered, ‘The cancer’s inoperable…the family GP said, it is
stress taking its toll. It is depression … I wish I could continue with my
daughterhood...Why certain people go against the natural order of things…I want
to kill that man, I mean, my father and a few more…I’m the kind of person who sticks to her decisions…’

I coughed to prevent her from talking any
further. Her constant chatter had now totally modilfied her appearance. I was amazed at the pallor
and anxiety I was seeing in that face. Suddenly, looking at the neighbors-- with
an expression of intense alarm, one of her hands gently glided into her
little traveling bag that was lying beside her. She took out a pen-knife…I cringed.

But, again her small action indicated that she was fearful and nervous. I touched her assuringly, but she shrugged my hands off and
explained to me, in pantomime, that I had nothing to fear, since she was
there. Her behavior was strange. I hesitated for a moment. Wondered, if I could trust this woman?

Those men were observing both of us. This was only expected, for she had been making ridiculous signs and gestures..

After a short silence, she came close to me and uttered, in an almost
inaudible voice: “Do you know one of those monsters is my father..?” Now, she was getting hysterical and inappropriate.

She continued...

‘But tell me how can I hate my father who gave me so much love…;
he took me to bars and to the theaters, we had fun together. I loved him
secretly, not the way one loves her father, but as man. But, I hate him now because he’s been
open with everyone around him, except for my mother—the only person who really
deserved his attention. How could he be so heartless??’

A cacophonous confusion echoed around the coupe…and I saw a stark, but pathetic portrait of her schizophrenic mind.She kept muttering for sometime..

A Doctor was summoned by the Railway Authorities as she was getting more and more hysterical. A sedative was pushed into her veins, to get the situation under control.

A deep peace flooded
through her face. I kept watching her, unabashed, till she dozed off..I struggled to keep awake. I looked through the window at the
landscape and the fleeting stars, but in a short time all that became indistinct; and the image of the nervous lady probably effaced from my memory... and I was buried in the soothing depths of sleep.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Introduced By: BLOGGER NAME, Participation Count: 10!! Yippee! I am a VETERAN at last!:)

Mary, This is why I wait for your comment avidly. 'Cause you easily understand what I try to say...I was out during the weekend, and wrote this quickly after coming back last evening, had to post it unedited to meet the deadline :)))) I have edited it now..:) Thanks very much for liking the story:)

Usha, Thanks for the visit... and the feeling of satisfaction you give me with your comment.. :))This was posted unedited to meet the deadline. I was sleepy and tired, so couldn't edit it last night. I am glad this kept your interest alive. You are such a ego-booster for me, Usha. God bless:)) I would love to meet you when I go to Delhi this time :)

Wish, you had read the edited version, li'l princess. I was out during the weekend, came back home last night and scribbled this hurriedly. Posted the story just to meet the deadline...But, am glad you enjoyed reading!Thanks re...

Akila, Wish, you had read the edited version. I was out during the weekend, came back home last night and scribbled this hurriedly. Posted the story just to meet the deadline..I have edited it now. But, I am glad you enjoyed reading!Thanks re...I shall be reading the other entries now.. Trophy..? Why not? I don't get tired of them:PThanks!!

Ah Indu, I was actually dying to wrap it up quickly. As I said, this story was written in a hurry and was posted (unedited) last night to meet the deadline. I edited it only around lunch-time.But, am glad you enjoyed reading!Thanks for your kind words.Love,

It was like watching a short film & waited for the climax & i felt it was worth watching I mean reading ur style of narration pulling ur readers like a magnet & tempting us to come back to u..speechless,breath taking & an awesome surprising end.Actually did u meet that lady on ur trip?? really fact+fiction Panchalibolchi well done.SMILES:) GOD<3U

Hello Panchali Mam. So good to come here. I was busy with something so wasn't really blogging. But whoa. you caught me on my feet. This was a bazooka, hit me like a cannonball. Really loved it, everything about it, the plot, the narration, the characterization, the shock element, everything.

ABSOLUTELY SUPERB.. Of course you are no alien to such remarks. But my vocab is too small to cater to your artistry with words.